


test of my patience

by SterekJuice



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Couch Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Scent Marking, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25706713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SterekJuice/pseuds/SterekJuice
Summary: Stiles should know better than to make Derek jealous on purpose.But God help him, Stiles loves doing things he knows he shouldn't do.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 565





	test of my patience

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy :).

The thing about Derek Hale is that he’s a jealous, possessive, Grade-A asshole.

Most people think his behaviour stretches to ‘protectiveness’ and stops there, because everyone knows by now how Derek gets when you hurt the people he cares about. That Derek would tear the world apart for him if he had to. Stiles knows this.

And God help him, Stiles loves it.

“He wasn’t – ah, Jesus, fuck, Derek, we weren’t even doing nothing, I barely even looked at the guy,” Stiles gasps, spluttering with breathless giggles as Derek scents and gnaws on his neck, beard scratching against his skin.

“Barely looked, huh?” Derek rumbles, teasing, a hand curved tight around Stiles’ waist just tight enough to bow Stiles’ body against his, to show that he’s not kidding around, not really. “That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing.”

“You were standing right next to me,” Stiles breathes, head tipped back against the door. “You heard everything, I didn’t even flirt that much–”

“Well as long as it wasn’t that much,” Derek says drily.

“Derek,” Stiles says, placating, not quite able to stifle the smirk on his face, “come on.”

Derek looks at him, eyes dark, not appeased in the slightest. “You have no idea. No goddamn idea what you looked like tonight, dressed up all pretty like that. You know how people look at you? The way they stare? And then you give one of them the time of day, let that asshole get in close, hands all over you like–“

“He touched me one time and he was just helping me fix my tie,” Stiles says, poking the bear. “You’re the one who dragged me to this thing in the first place– Alpha/Emissary events are boring, alright, I get bored, you know that, and Lydia bought me those cocktails an–”

“And you got tipsy and loose and forgot who you belonged to,” Derek finishes for him, voice dropping lower, slower. Stiles shivers, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. Derek knows – of course he knows, he knows how Stiles gets when he talks like that. “You got any idea how you looked back there? Hanging off his every word, leaning into him like some needy little whore who’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“I wouldn’t,” Stiles breathes, quieter. “I wouldn’t–”

“How can I be sure? ‘Specially with the way you acted tonight. What’s the matter, hm, sweetheart? You not getting it enough at home? That it, baby?”

Stiles makes a quiet, choked noise, hands on Derek’s chest. “Jesus– Derek, you know that’s not it, you know that’s-” Stiles gasps quietly as Derek slides his hand into his hair and tilts Stiles’ head up so he can kiss him, hungrily, licking into his mouth.

“Fucking hated the way he looked at you,” Derek growls into the kiss, quiet, voice tight. He looks like he’s perfectly aware of the game Stiles is playing– like he knows that he’s being goaded, that he’s playing right into his hands but he couldn’t give a damn. His fingers dig into Stiles’ undoubtedly bruised waist a little more, the other hand wrapped loosely around Stiles’ throat, just enough that Stiles can feel the pressure of it there. “I’m gonna fuck you,” he breathes.

“I would hope so,” Stiles pants, flushed all over, knees shaking.

Derek laughs a little, and it makes Stiles shiver. “No, baby, I’m gonna fuck you. Not gonna be able to walk right by the time I’m done with you. Look at you, cock pressed into my hip. God, you want it. You want it, don’t you?” Derek asks, working the buttons off Stiles’ dress shirt, tugging it off him and letting it fall. “Say it to me, sweetheart, come on,” he cajoles.

“Derek,” Stiles whines, arching, grinding himself into Derek’s thigh. Derek’s so broad and solid and warm, had barely locked the front door before shoving Stiles up against it and Stiles loves it, of course he does, Derek handling him like this, talking to him like this. His cock twitches, drooling into his boxers. He’s going out of his mind. “So fucking mean, Christ,” he pants.

Derek hums in agreement, nipping at Stiles’ lower lip. “A little liquor in you and look at you, panting for it like you’re in heat. Always been like that, haven’t you sweetheart? Come home at all hours of the night, whiskey on your breath, climb into bed with me and kiss me awake to take care of you. I should teach you a lesson about restraint. I’ll slide one of those cock rings on you while I give it to you one day, keep it on ‘til you’re begging– look at me,” Derek says, and Stiles’ eyes snap open and focus on Derek’s before he’s even aware of the action.

“Jesus,” Stiles groans in a whisper, learning something new about himself and certain kinks he didn’t know he had. He ruts against Derek’s leg, and Derek lets him. “God, that’s– yeah. Yeah. One day– not today, Derek, please,” he whimpers.

Derek hums, pleased. “You gonna say it for me? Come on, baby, tell me how you want it.”

“I want it,” Stiles gasps, his hips rolling. He’s so hard it hurts, wants out of his constricting dress pants more than anything but the heat and friction from Derek’s thigh is so good. “I want it so bad, Alpha, it hurts, come on.”

“Want what?” Derek asks, knee pressing between Stiles’ thighs. Stiles trembles.

“Want your cock in me,” Stiles moans, “Derek, come on, come on.” Derek kisses him again, slow and syrupy and intoxicating. Stiles’ hips roll into Derek’s thigh, jerky and uncoordinated and desperate, tacky pre-come slicking up his underwear ‘til he feels dirty and wet and fuck, he’s not gonna last.

“Yeah,” Derek breathes, in that tone that always makes Stiles want to drop to his knees and start sucking. “Jesus, yeah, baby, that all for me? Gonna make a mess?”

“Fuck,” Stiles whines. “Yes.”

Derek laughs quietly, undoing Stiles’ belt, sliding a big, warm hand into his underwear. He barely gets his hand around him before Stiles is gasping out Derek’s name, coming in slow, heavy, overwhelming pulses, Derek stroking him through it.

Stiles’ chest heaves with pants as Derek tugs the pants off him, grabbing and squeezing his ass in the process. Stiles leans, dazed, against the door. Derek pauses suddenly, hand slipping into Stiles’ back pocket before shoving Stiles’ pants down to his ankles. When Derek’s hand comes back into view, it’s holding the little clear bottle he’d found there.

“Hoping to get lucky tonight?” he asks, shoving his hips harder into Stiles and getting his hands under each of Stiles’ thighs and then lifting, carrying him. Stiles makes an unintelligible noise deep in his throat like he’s short-circuiting, wrapping his arms around Derek and holding on. Derek takes the few steps that lead them into the living room, dumping Stiles on the sofa unceremoniously. Stiles makes the noise again.

“Was hoping you’d do me in the bathroom or something,” Stiles admits, dazed.

“I should’ve done you right in the middle of the party, is what I should’ve done,” Derek tells him, hands gripping and spreading Stiles’ bare thighs. “Set a few things straight.”

“There’s nothing straight about this,” Stiles snorts as Derek slicks up his fingers. Stiles must’ve really done it this time, because Derek who usually took his sweet time getting Stiles all stretched out for him barely fits even three digits inside him before he’s pulling his wet fingers out and bending Stiles in half. Derek’s still fully dressed, doesn’t even bother getting anywhere as naked as him, just unzips his pants, pulls his cock out and shoves into him, sliding home and forcing a ragged moan out of Stiles. His nails scrape along Derek’s back, trembling fingers gripping Derek’s hair.

“Yeah,” Derek says, quiet, reverent. His hands slide all over Stiles’ exposed skin, touching him everywhere. “Yeah, that’s it, all mine. You mine, hm? Say it to me, baby,”

“Derek,” Stiles whimpers, shaking, heart thudding in his ears. “Alpha – God, yes, yeah, yours, Alpha.”

“Fuck,” Derek moans, quiet, rough, and it drives Stiles a little crazy. “Say that again, sweetheart, say my name.”

“Alpha,” Stiles sighs, fingers digging into his meaty shoulders, scrabbling for purchase. Derek’s lips fall to Stiles’ neck, leaving bruising kisses and bites, a possessive growl in his throat. Stiles holds on for dear life as Derek lays his claim, fucking him into and along the couch ‘til Stiles’ head is hitting the armrest, and then dragging him back down for more.

Derek slides a hand into Stiles’ hair, tilting his head back and leaning in for a bruising kiss. Stiles gets a hand in the collar of Derek’s shirt and pulls, tearing the fabric off, the buttons popping and scattering along the ground. Derek gives a low grunt and sucks on Stiles’ lower lip as he rolls his hips into him, cock dragging along Stiles’ spot, and then his hands are all over Derek’s bare back, feeling his muscles flex.

Derek pulls away briefly to look down at Stiles, and he looks like he wants to eat him, devour him whole. Stiles swallows, and Derek pulls all the way out and then forces his cock back in again, just to see Stiles gasp, open-mouthed, then does it over and over, forcing shocked little whimpers out of Stiles every time he fucks into him.

“Oh, God,” Stiles whimpers. “You jealous fucking asshole, oh, fuck– fuck.”

“Yeah, baby,” Derek says, voice rough as he picks up his harsh, bruising pace. “Jesus, God, look at you. You like that? You like having my cock inside you?”

“Yes, you know I do,” Stiles wheezes, “so fucking– good, Derek, gonna come. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“I know,” Derek breathes, rocking in and out, head of his cock dragging along Stiles’ prostate and it’s so good, makes Stiles feel like part of him might not survive his impending orgasm, like he’s gonna fucking die. Stiles arches his back and whines, and Derek braces himself against the couch, a hand gripping the cushion, and then there’s a ripping sound as Derek’s claws tears right through the leather, the couch creaking dangerously beneath them.

Stiles slurs out something that vaguely sounds like “‘M ‘g ‘na,” and then Derek’s snapping his hips, fucking him even stupider, leaning down to press his lips to Stiles’, licking and nipping and sucking. Stiles can’t stop shaking, and then his cock jerks, pulses, his hole clenches and he’s done for, coming again, hands clutching mindlessly at Derek, holding him close.

“That’s it,” Derek croons as Stiles slowly comes back to himself. It lasts forever, waves of pleasure washing over him, drowning him. “That’s it, honey, just like that.”

“Ngh,” says Stiles. Derek keeps fucking him, making the world spin uncontrollably on its axis. He’s so sensitive, twitching and gasping around Derek. The inside of his head turns to mush, until he can barely speak at all, can just moan for it like a wanton slut while Derek drives him into the shredded couch cushions.

Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck, moaning hotly. “So good, baby, take it so good, the sounds you make, Jesus– gonna fill you up.” Stiles clenches weakly around him, giving a little sob, and then Derek’s burying himself to the hilt and spilling into him. Finally, Derek collapses down onto his elbows, mouth brushing against Stiles’.

Stiles kisses him lazily, their tongues sliding together, noses brushing. “Mmm,” he hums after a few moments. “Mmhmm. Goddamn.”

Derek looks down at him, gaze trailing all over his body, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. “Those drinks wearing off?” Derek asks, voice raspy.

“Wasn’t that drunk anyway,” Stiles murmurs, hand on the back of Derek’s neck to keep him close, pecking his lips. “Anyone ever told you how hot you are when you’re being an idiot?”

“Oh I’m an idiot now, am I?” Derek asks him, a thick eyebrow arching.

“Yeah you’re an idiot, Sourwolf,” Stiles huffs. “Anyone who thinks I’d ever even think of another man like that is an idiot. It’s only you, Der. You know it’ll always be you.”

“A quick reminder never hurt anybody,” Derek says, but his voice is softer, his thumb strokes gently across Stiles’ flushed cheek.

“Speak for yourself. This poor sofa,” Stiles laments. “This is the ninth one you’ve ruined in a year, Derek. These things don’t deserve what we put them through.”

“What about you, huh?” Derek asks, thrusting into him again, gentle, making Stiles’ stomach flip. “You gonna be able to walk after this?”

“Am I gonna be able to- I’m a goddamned Spark,” Stiles says, outraged, sounding a lot more breathless than he should for the declaration to really have any impact. “I am the night. I am– ah,” Stiles gasps as Derek wraps a strong arm around his waist and a hand under his thigh, lifting him, then standing, walking and slamming him into the nearest wall.

“‘M sorry,” Derek mumbles, sounding real fucking apologetic. “That was rude of me. What were you saying?”

“You’re an asshole, Hale,” Stiles says weakly. Derek grins and starts to fuck him again, Stiles’ legs wrapped around his waist. “You’re a fucking– yeah- holy shit, yes,” he pleads as Derek changes his angle, rock hard inside him as if the last orgasm never happened.

Derek’s looking at him like he might just about burn the world down for Stiles anyway, whether it’s absolutely necessary or not, just to be sure there’s no one in it that’ll ever touch him. Derek’s pace picks up, slowly, like he’s dwelling on and getting off to that idea, until he’s got his teeth in Stiles’ neck again, moaning.

“Say it again,” Derek says, voice thick, low. Stiles’ cock twitches against their stomachs, hard and flushed again already.

“Just you,” Stiles moans, knowing what Derek needs to hear. “Only you, Alpha.”

Derek’s come is dripping out of him in this position, messy and so fucking hot– Stiles knows Derek can feel it too, knows that this was probably Derek’s main reason for getting them off the couch at all, to be able to feel and smell what he’s done to him, every single bit of it. It makes Stiles burn a little hotter, makes him squirm. Derek shoves up inside him, rougher, and Stiles knows he’s right.

Derek grips Stiles’ hips so tight it hurts, and all Stiles can do is pray for a quick recovery for his future self as Derek fucks him senseless, his pace punishing, deep and fast. “Derek,” he whispers, hoarse, distantly aware of the depression they’re leaving in the wall, his brain too overwhelmed by other sensations to give a fuck right now– Stiles is getting pounded at the moment, please leave any possible home renovation concerns for future-Stiles to deal with after the beep. “Derek, please, come in me again baby, come on, want it dripping out of me.”

Stiles feels Derek’s whole body shake, his huge hot hand leaving Stiles’ hip to tug at his leaking cock, twisting his wrist on every upward stroke, shoving his weight against Stiles’ squirming body to keep him still.

“Take me so good, honey, so fucking good. Could do this all day, love on you like this ‘til you can’t take anymore, Stiles, God.”

“Holy fuck,” Stiles sobs, head thrown back against the wall. Derek thumbs at the slick head of Stiles’ dick, then rubs at the sensitive spot just beneath it. “Alpha, ah– ah.”

His orgasm hits him like a freight train, punching the breath out of his lungs. He’s vaguely aware of the sheer trajectory of this one –some of it even shoots into Derek’s hair– but then Derek’s cursing and panting out his name and coming inside him with a low, shuddering groan.

They both just breathe for a while, dazed. Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ shoulder, and then raises his head again.

“Still want to try walking?” He wonders, hair a mess, small, sated smile on his face.

Stiles means to shove, but ends up just batting uselessly at Derek’s shoulder, proving, if anything, the uselessness of his limbs right now. “Don’t you dare put me down,” Stiles tells him, voice still shaky.

Derek’s grinning, brushing their noses together. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, and carries Stiles to their bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my fic and feel free to drop a comment or kudos (or both) if you liked it :).


End file.
